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I REPRIEVE]' 

I AND 

S3 

OTHER POEMS 



BY I 

CHARLES JOSIAH ADAMS | 



NEW YORK 

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY 

57 ROSE STREET 



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I REPRIEVE! 

AND 

OTHER POEMS 



BY 

CHARLES JOSIAH ADAMS I 

Author of 

Where Is My Dog; or. Is Man Alone Immortal? 

The Racing Parson; or, How Baldy Won the 

County Seat. Robert G, Ingersoll, et at. 

The Clerical Attire, etc., 

etc., etc. 




NEW YORK 
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY , 
57 ROSE STREET 

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Copyright, 1916 
By Charles Josiah Adams 






A WORD IN ADVANCE. 



Tears ago — in 1899 — I attempted to get some of the 
poems of this collection to the public under the title of 
The Matterhorn Head. But if I succeeded, it was limp- 
ingly — through defective proof-reading. One of my 
regrets because of this came of the collection's being 
dedicated to Eugene Field — "Who was one of the first 
to appreciate my work in Biophilism — who, in recog- 
nition of my Where Is My Dog? sent me a copy of his 
With Trumpet and Drum, with these words on a fly- 
leaf : * To Charles Josiah Adams, from one who believes, 
with him, in the immortality of Clip and Jessie and 
other loving dog friends' " — to quote from that dedica- 
tion. 

So this may be considered the first formal appearance 
of the poem The Matterhorn Head, as well as of the 
poems which were associated with it in the miscarriage 
— To a Midwinter Fly, The Gray and the Bay, and The 
Gray Charger. 

The longest poem of the present collection is Reprieve. 
It has been among my manuscripts since the summer of 
1871. How long ago was that ? I do not care to count. 
I wrote it in the course of a long summer vacation, 
which I spent in that beautiful and dreamy region 
through which crawls the Monongehela. What mem- 
ories! ..... 

Charles Josiah Adams. 
The Bureau of Biophilism, 
Rossville, 

Staten Island, N. Y. 

Felruary, 12, 1916. 



CONTENTS 



Reprieve! :*:. . 7 

The Matterhorn Head >. ,,, , 30 

To A Midwinter Fly 31 

Three Burials 33 

The Hunter 34 

Phlip Waiting? 36 

Free Loves 37 

The Microscopist 39 

The Gray and the Bay 41 

The Gray Charger 44 

Little Things , 46 

The Cop and the Mouse 46 

Experience 48 

The Revelation of Love .^. ,,, . 50 

Nicodemus V 51 

A Sense of Shame .^r* • • • 51 

Little Two-Stars .» ..... .» 52 

Through Eons Long >> . .:, . .> . ... . 53 

To Bishop Rowe .> . ... .v 53 

She Findeth God 54 

To Miss , Afterwards Mrs. 54 

5 



REPRIEVE ! 



By an early past o'ertaken, 

I was restless on my bed, 
And arose and sought my study, 

At the hour when, it is said, 
Spirits, which were once embodied, 

To the Here, from Anywhere, 
May appear, to pain or please us — 

Sought my study, and, when there, 
To the fire I drew an arm-chair, 

Drew an arm-chair, deep and wide. 
Softly cushioned, fairly fashioned: 

Still my mind my will defied ! — 
And my sorrow and my yearning. 

Though I thought them numbed to be, 
Mastered all within the borders 

Of the universe of me. 

Two by two — but shadows? — flitted 

In the hearth-lights 's smothered glow, 
Making stronger sorrow, yearning, 

In my universe of woe. 
Much unlike the ones preceding 

The succeeding couples were; 
Yet a vague, uncertain something 

With my fancy did concur 
To suggest to understanding, 

If it shares in reverie. 
Their unlikeness superficial, 

They the same essentially. 

This, the Nameless ! Oh, what dead hopes 

Rose and damned thee, lovely shade — 

7 



8 EEPRIEVE ! 

Rose and damned thee as the semblance 
Of a most inconstant maid ! — 

That the rival — princely, ghoulish — 
"Who, in oily speech and fair, 

Won the maiden 's hand, and dragged her 
To a gilt, but loveless lair! 

As the sable robes of Darkness 

O'er the silent city swept, 
Still they came and still they vanished. 

Till I — very weary — slept? .... 
Sinking fire upon th' andirons, 

Dim the dying ember's glow — 
Ember that would soon lie buried, 

As my heart, its ash below. 

Wlien I'd sunken into slumber — 

Into slumber false or real — 
Into slumber very fitful — 

Hard volcanic fires to seal ! — 
Th' old clock's ticking seemed a knocking 

At a portal of my mind. 
Causing me to ponder vaguely, 

Whether I were there confined. 

Oddly is the framework fashioned 

Of this quaint ancestral-clock, 
By a master hand constructed 

From a veined marble block : 
Powdered o'er with fluffy snowflakes, 

Mantled well his bended form, 
In his hand a staff rough-chiseled, 

Pilgrim braves a mountain storm: 
Not a common pilgrim seems he, 

Not a hardy mountaineer, 
Used to battles elemental. 

But a meditating seer. 

Was I waking? — ^Was I sleeping?— 

All was but uncertainty. — 
Rose the staff rough-chiseled slowly: 



REPRIEVE ? 

*'Let a vision healing be!^' — 
Not obscure and not uncertain, 

But accented, plain and clear, 
Coming from the marble figure, 

Were these words upon my ear. 

As they fell the figure slowly 

Took another attitude, 
Slowly quit its active posture 

On the pathway steep and rude, 
From it fell the pilgrim's mantle, 

Sank the staff rough-chiseled down. 
Came the musty robes of learning — 

Learning's sober robes and brown; 
In the hand which late had holden — 

Precious band for thing so mean. 
What the clown had held more firmly — 

Wisdom's mystic wand was seen. 

And as changed the marble figure, 

Changed in posture, changed in form, 
Sitting in a shady study 

He who'd faced a mountain storm, 
Piled about him dingy volumes. 

Dingy volumes fresh with lore. 
Volumes by the world forgotten. 

To the student sacred store, 
And behind him green-hued curtains, 

Falling into graceful fold. 
Curtains of the richest damask. 

Damask ringed about with gold, 
Curtains such as royal scholar 

Of the Regions of the Sun, 
Drapes about his rich pavilion 

Till the Day his race has run ; 
So, ere long, the ticking, knocking 

Of the time-piece to my ear, 
And there floated through the study. 

Low and sweet, a cadence clear — 
Growing lower, sweeter, fainter. 

Till it, tingling as a bell, 



10 REPRIEVE ! 

Twittering as a mate-thrilled songster 
Ceased, and pregnant silence fell. 

Slightly moved the damask curtains, 
Smaller grew each graceful fold, 

Till had vanished all the beauties, 
Save a peeping fringe of gold. 

Slowly, widely, in its rising. 
Grew upon my vision's eye 

Fairer scene than ever artist 
Saw beneath a sunny sky. 

Would that I could paint the picture! — 

In the distance misty hills, 
Near their summits oaks and pine-trees, 

Down their slopings flashing rills — 
Rills which, meeting in a forest, 

To a valley came as one, 
One which, glancing as a mirror, 

Flung his rays back to the sun — 
On whose bank, which native flowers 

In the richest colors clad, 
Hidden half by waving grasses, 

Lay and dreamed a pensive lad. 

Gently played his curls of auburn, 

Moved by mellow, fragrant air — 
Fragrant with ambrosial perfumes 

Gathered from the bloomings there, 
Mellow with the misty breathings 

Of the woodlands hov 'ring 'round, 
With the river's exhalations, 

With the dew-breath of the ground. 

At his side a pond 'rous mastiff. 

In his hand a rustic flute ; 
But the dog was still in watching. 

And the fashioned-reed was mute. 



REPRIEVE ! 11 

Fixed his eyes were in a rapture 

On the blue which curtained space, 
Whither turned the seer his scepter, 

And, in sadness, bade me: "Trace — 
** Trace the fancies — trace the day-dreams 

**0f the lad — ^how very bold — 
"For upon them is depending 

**What the vision shall unfold!" 



There I turned my eyes, and gazing 

On the blue and mistless screen, 
Dimly first, and then more clearly, 

Rich, luxuriant growths were seen : 
Towering Godward, slender palm-trees 

Seemed to rule the dreamy world. 
With their leaves, as clustered standards, 

On their rigid tops unfurled, 
Rising o'er the soft banana. 

Shaken by a gentle wind, 
Reproduced by bloom-girt fountains. 

With the stately tamarind. 

Tropic island, and about it. 

Swelling gently constantly. 
Flashing in a brilliant sunset, 

Lay a placid summer sea. 

As I sat, entranced, enraptured, 

Suddenly the Day withdrew, 
Closed the splendid western portals, 

O'er the waves a shallop flew — 
Flinging back the fleecy sea-foam 

From its keenly pointed prow — 
Flew — through filmy-golden brilliance; 

For the moon was risen now — 
Flew — a bird upon the waters — 

Flew — was ever thing so light? — 
Flew — as might a soul unbodied — 

Flew — the movement of the night ! 



12 REPRIEVE ! 

At the helm a boy was standing, 

Gazing o'er the star-lit wave — 
Start-lit after giddy Twilight 

To the Night her blessing gave — 
Blessing gave, but would not tarry 

Where his dewy matress lay — 
Loving most to be a maiden — 

,Wooed by Night and wooed by Day. 

Filled his being seemed with wonder, 
Thrilled with bounding ecstacy! — r 

Ever bit of land so charmful, 
Circled by so fond a sea ? 

Quickly spread another sail-cloth 

To the gently-friendly wind, 
As a sudden resolution 

Sprang to being in his mind: 
**To thy bay I'll trust my shallop, 

**Mid thy charms I'll cease to rove, 
**In thy heart I'll rear our palace, 

''There to live, and dream, and love!" 

Furling sails and dropping anchor 

In a little, glassy bay, 
He, upon the white sands bounding, 

Scaled a shell-mosaic-bray. 

When he'd reached the higher level, 

Ample inland of the isle. 
Where the grassy meads were blooming. 

Lay he down to gloat awhile. 

Near him grew a bank of poppies, 

Whose deceitful bloom distills 
That which lulls to sleep the lounger. 

And his brain with fancies fills — 
Fancies — not but pain on waking — 

So unreal — yet so sweet! — 
This blew o'er the sleeping sailor: 

'*Ha!'' he cried. ''The sound of feet!- 



REPRIEVE ! 13 

**Am I certain that I hear them? — 
**No! — But what deceives me thus? — • 

**Yes! I see the son of Somnus! — 
** 'Tis the potent Morpheus I' ' 

Speaking thus, with eager accent, 

To the god he reaches hand, 
[Who approaching, softly, lightly, 

Bids him take the golden wand — 
Glowing wand, which over Dreamland, 

To its dimmest region sways — 
That his dreams may greet him waking?^ 

Him to will, in dreaming, prays. 

High the dreamer raised the scepter, 

Waving it as he upheld : 
Towering high its airy turrets, 

Marble palace I beheld, 
Mingling beauties of all systems 

Of the architectural craft. — 
Low were many a mightly buttress, 

Then the massive Tuscan shaft, 
Higher, slim Corinthian columns, 

Graceful as a maiden's arms, 
[While, with all, in niche and corner, 

Sculpture lent her rarest charms. 

Now the eastern sky was ruddy, 

Now the sun rode forth in pride, 
Causing all the shapes of Darkness 

From his piercing gaze to hide: 
From the poppies stepped th' immortal, 

Reaching for his golden wand ; 
From his dreamings rose the sailor. 

Hurried to the glist'ring strand. 
Reached and boarded waiting shallop. 

Left the mooring in the bay, 
And was lost among the vapors 

[Which on the horizon lay. 



14 REPRIEVE ! 

In a golden glow of vigor, 

His diurnal duty done, 
Through the crimson western portals, 

Passed again the golden sun; 
To their thrones within the heavens 

Luna led her glitt'ring train; 
And again the restful shadows 

Robed the isle and cooled the main; 
And .... Across the glowing waters 

Leaps a little, pretty sail; 
And comes floating on the light-wind: 

**To our resting place, All hail!'* 

First I saw the lad, the dreamer 

Of the island, of the stream, 
At the tiller standing, eager, 

Hair afloat and eyes agleam; 
But as nearer flew the shallop, 

Seated at its pointed bow, 
I espied a tender maiden, 

Lily hand at lily brow, 
Gazing o'er the argent billows: 

* ' That the isle to which we sail ! — 
**That" she stood and cried, **our palace !- 

**To our dwelling place. All hail!" 

Soon I saw them drop the anchor 

In the little, glassy bay, 
And, upon the white sand bounding, 

Scale the shell-mosaic-bray. 

Hand in hand the youthful sailor 

And the all-confiding maid, 
' Past and Future lost in Present, 

Towards the marble palace strayed; 
And, ere long, I saw them passing 

Through the breezy corridors. 
Saw them flit through fair apartments, 

Op'ning to them willing doors, 
Saw them on moon-lighted turrets, 

Feasting on the scenes below, 



REPRIEVE ! 15 

Till, at last, they rested, panting, 
On a pillared portico. 

In the air there was a music, 

Such as brooding spirits feel, 
In the open midnight-stillness. 

Dripping from the Land of Weal — ■ 
Spicy air, from lately blowing 

Through the ripened citron groves, 
Blowing o'er the loamy lowlands 

Which the lusty orange loves. 
From its rippling through the branches 

Of the fragrant nutmeg-tree, 
From its kissing healing-flowers. 

Served and wounded by the bee. 

Slowly fell the damask curtain, 

With a soft and silken sound : 
Soothingly it touched my hearing. 

And my — sleep? — ^was more profound. 

But, ere long, a silver-cadence, 

From — the spirit of a bell? — 
Stealing through the darkling chamber. 

On my ear — subjective? — fell. 

Now I thought it not so joyful 

As when first its tone I heard. — 
Less it was the forest songster 

Than the caged canary-bird. 

Slightly waved the damask curtains, 

Smaller grew each graceful fold. 
Till had vanished all the beauties, 

Save the peeping fringe of gold. 

In apartment old and dingy, 

Life was breathing, fresh and strong 

As the waxing pulse of ocean. 
Inlets through and coasts along — 



16 REPRIEVE ! 

Life as hopeful as the Day-king, 

When he quits a cloudless east, 
Lusty, thinking of his noon-stead. 

Careless what may be the west — 
Though robust, a young man slender, 

With a clear, though dreamy eye, 
Which resembled much the mellow 

Star set in a southern sky — 
O'er whose shoulder fell in ripples 

Long and wavy auburn hair. 
Flowing back from ample forehead, 

Strong, though as a maiden's fair. 

Gently waved the seer his scepter, 

Creases deep'ning in his face, 
Sadness in his intonation. 

As he slowly bade me: ''Trace — 
Trace the dreams, with intuitions, 

Of the young-man, very bold; 
For upon them is depending 

What the vision shall unfold!" 

Now 'twas not a marble palace, 

By the Tuscan shaft upheld, 
With its tall Corinthian columns, 

But a mansion I beheld. 
On whose sullen granite towers 

Ivy wove a somber dress, 
Trimmed by moist and clinging mosses. 

On the boss and at recess — 
Seated in the midst, obscurely. 

Of a wide-spread native grove, 
Full as consecrate to Nature 

As where deer and panther rove — 
Grove of maple, elm and oak-tree. 

And the motly sycamore — 
Not more rugged are the forests 

On the bleak Norwegian shore; 
But while Nature ruled supremely 

She was not a selfish queen. 



REPRIEVE ! 17 

And beneath her rude protection 

Works of Art — less rude? — were seem- 
Here a statue roughly-graceful; 

From a lake a fountain gushed; 
There, o'er mossy stones, a cascade, 

Where no primal water gushed : 
All the trees were dressed in green robes, 

Save the black-oak, that in white, 
And the maple, that in russet. 

And the dogwood was bedight 
With its large and snowy blossoms, 

And the ground was carpeted 
With a mantle blue and yellow. 

And the red-bud reached o'erhead: 
Over all the clear-faced night-queen 

Threw a still and dreamy light, 
And the stars were glinting brightly — • 

Perfect occidental night! 

By the tree-trunks, old and fungused, 

In a winding avenue, 
Through the long and slendor shadows 

Which the flanking lombards threw, 
Sprinkled by the mist of fountains, 

Mingled with the falling dew, 
Startled by the springing rabbit, 

Routed by his lurcher out, 
By the owlet 's wierd whoo-whooing, 

By a bat, which whirled about. 
There was seen a young man faring, 

Towards the mansion, glimpsed afar, 
Through the openings in the forest, 

'Neath his arm a rare guitar. 

Soon, his eye on trellised window. 

Floated up a prelude long. 
Pleasing, e'en in my impatience: 

What would be the promised song? — 

**0h! gentle wind, which ripples through 
* * The ivy of her tower, 



18 REPRIEVE ! 






I beg thee whisper to my Love, 
I sigh beneath her bower! — 



**As mellow rays of Cynthia pierce 

**The unresisting pane, 
**So I would have her pearly ear 

** Passive to my refrain: 

**Upon thy couch thy form is lain, 
"Thy tapering limbs repose, 



It 



Thy shapely neck and parted lips, 
The lily and the rose! 






Thy breasts, transparent, rise and fall, 

As bubbles on a tide. 
The hand, which nestles 'tween them, white 
**As fleck of foam, the bride! 



it 

1 1 
It 
1 1 



And now, I ween, thou dream 'st a dream, 

A sweet, wild dream of love, 
In thought so pure that angels smile, 

In noting it Above: 



**Glad tidings from a world of sin, 

*'To bear to Realms of Grace — 
**A dream is dreamed, a dream of love, 

* * Free from an earthly trace ! ' ' 

**But sleep, oh! sleep, thy maiden sleep, 

"Oh dear Love, dream thy dream, 
"And may its faintest thought survive 

* * Wide-waking 's steady gleam ! ' * 

Thus was sung the song and finished. 

And, as died away the sound. 
Open flew the trellised window, 

And a — something — circled 'round. 
Fluttered through the hazy moon-light, 

Through the still, prophetic air. 
And appeared unseasoned snowflake, 

In a bed of flowers there. 



REPRIEVE ! 19 

As the bee from sweet-lipped clover 

Takes the honey for its cell, 
So the lover took the message. 

And, in leaving, sang: ''Farewell — 
** Farewell, my darling! Seek thy couch, 

*'And dream again thy dream, 
**And may thy faintest thought survive 

** Wide-waking's steady gleam!" 

And the echoes of the singing 

Gave the night an added hush, 
In their joining in the stilling 

Of a half -awakened thrush. 

Then the vision was as changeful 

As the cloud-scape rushing by. 
When the moon is shining brightly, 

And the winds are in the sky: 
Now a lad and now a maiden, 

Now a palace fairy-planned, 
Now an angel, now a demon, 

Now a donjon frowned the land; 
Till among the sun-flecked shadows, 

Under baring forest trees. 
In the goldenrod and gentian, 

In the cooling autumn breeze. 
Stood erect a rosy maiden. 

Graceful as untamed gazelle, 
Harking in the juicy pastures 

Of a native mountain dell. 

As from Eros with commission, 

From her hand a kerchief's blown. 

That a young man may return it, 
To my vision's eye well known. 

Far along a pathway's windings, 
Side by side, they halting, strayed, 

Saying nothing, thinking only. 
While above the squirrels played, 

Chirping, frisking, pausing, bounding. 
Heeding to their calling mates, 



20 REPRIEVE ! 

Showering down the colored foliage, 
Which a breath or motion waits; 

Till, at length, they reach a bower, 
Formed by Nature, helped by Art, 

Sweet Communion's choice of Holies, 
Farthest from the World apart. 

There they sat in conversation. 

Such as only Lovers know, 
With their words but rhythmic murmurs 

To their soul's united flow — 
Till the sun, in hidden cadence, 

Gathered in his robes of light, 
And the stillness growing stiller 

Showed a hushing for the night; 
When they rose and in the twilight 

Took again the sinuous reach, 
In a deeply blissful silence, 

Not their lips, their hearts in speech. 

As they went, they neared a chapel, 
Built of granite-blocks unhewn. 

With, above its ivied tower. 
Hanging low, a crescent moon. 

Sudden change. Again the springtime :— 

'Twas the gorgeous month of May: — 
Smiles were on the lips of Nature: — 

'Twas a perfect Nuptial-day; — 
Seeming, as if proudly conscious 

Of the happy folk they drew, 
As the verger ope the portals 

Of the antique chapel threw, 
Paused a train of prancing horses. 

In the noontide's sparkling sheen. 
Rustling wreaths and plumes of flowers, 

Intertwining evergreen. 

Rich cortege, in silence forming. 
Soon was passed within the fane, 



REPRIEVE ! 21 

Influenced by a softened pleasure, 

As befits a wedding-train, 
Moved along an aisle deep-shadowed, 

Through the chancel's colored flood, 
To the sanctuary lighted, 

Where the vested rector stood. 

After all the words were spoken, 

By the priest and blushing bride, 
In her snowy veil and mantle, 

And the young man by her side, 
And the sacred blessing uttered, 

A recession in the aisle ; 
And a hushed and holy music 

From the organ breathed the while. 

Change as sudden. Lovely Vesper, 

Golden-tressed and tender-eyed, 
Seated on her throne of jasper, 

Goddess of the eventide, 
Bids the south-wind rise, and touching 

Intervening banks of bloom, 
Drowsy for the coming slumber, 

Gather burdens of perfume. 
And the noises, which are dying, 

Sink, till there be perfect still. 
Save that beetle tune his organ 

To the cry of whippoorwill ; 
For a twain of her adorers 

In her vaulted temple stand. 
And, with bated breathing, worship, 

Lips aparted, hand in hand — 
His the form and eye and forehead 

Which to poetry incline, 
Hers the form and eye and forehead 

Which the practical enshrine. 

Now, their silent worship ended, 
Toward verandaed cot they strayed. 

With the slow and measured motion 
Which is natural when we Ve prayed. 



22 REPRIEVE ! 

When the shaded lamp was lighted, 

And, with soft and mellow flood, 
Filled the room from floor to ceiling, 

Then the pensive couple stood, 
Each with arm about the other, 

Still a hand of hers in his, 
Stood, and bended slightly forward. 

And what held attention this: 
Little heads almost together, 

Sweetly weary eyelids closed, 
Little arms and dimpled crossing, 

Two fair little-ones reposed. 

Still a change. The years had led them 

Far beyond their youthfulness. 
And their heads were like to bushes, 

Bowing in their winter dress ; 
Yet the matron's queenly bearing, 

And the old man's soundless eyes. 
Told me them to be the centres 

Of my vision from its rise. 

As they thought their thoughts in silence. 

Wishing not to give them birth, 
Till the hush was not so holy. 

Gazing on an ample hearth, 
Where charred logs were burning slowly, 

Sending now and then a spark. 
As a serpent, up the chimney, 

Into deep and empty dark, 
Lighting in a flash a chamber, 

Furnitured long years before, 
Ev'ry thing in it familiar, 

Through the years loved more and more, 
With three paintings, genius-given, 

In this order on the walls, 
As one stands before the chimney. 

Looking as his shadow falls : 
While the shepherds kneel and wonder. 

Glorious angels meet their ken. 
And one seems to hear the saying : 



REPRIEVE I 



? 23 



*^ Peace on earth, good will to men!"— ^ 
That, the Peasant-Mother kneeling, 

All alone, in rapture wild, 
'Mong the cattle, o'er the manger, 

Where is lying Heaven's Child; 
To the left, the Tree of Anguish, 

Looming in an awful shade. 
And one cries, it seems so present : 

**Now, the full atonement's made!*' 

There they sit, till startled silence 
Quickly foldeth brooding wings. 

As a door swings on its hinges, 
And a childish laughter rings. 

Then they tell for long the story. 

With the children on their knees, 
That old story never threadbare, 

Of the evening 'neath the trees. 
Of the wedding in the chapel. 

Of their early hopes and fears, 
Of the many meetings, partings, 

Of the intervening years : 
'* Which have brought us to the present, 

''Where the pathway downwards tends, 
**When we look with hope exultant, 

* * Trust serene, to where it ends ! ' ' 

Startling change. A fair apartment, 

Richly furnitured and high, 
Furnitured as for a princess, 

Burst upon mxy vision's eye. 

At a mirror bright a maiden 
By her beauty stood entranced, 

A Narcissa to Narcissus, 

Where the fountain's waters glanced. 

At her beck two anxious suitors: 
Here a young man, tall and fair; 

Mammon — jewel-studded mummy, 
Incubus rich-mantled — there. 



24 REPRIEVE ! 

As a reed, when Storm is coming, 

Much she trembled, then she leaned, 
Vascillatingly between them, 

Towards the young man, towards the fiend, 
Till the damning thought of Lucre 

Into mighty passion gleamed, 
Turned her body into marble, 

Into flint her face, it seemed. 

"I should sin against my beauty, 

''Did I fail to set it well !— 
** Wealth's relief and "Wealth's adorning, 

**I must have them, though in Well ! 



• • • • 



From the young man then she turned her, 

With a brazen hardihood, 
And it seemed that Bloom and Wither 

In discordant union stood! 

In the chamber old and faded 

Sat the young man long, and seemed 
Lost, till this, to things external, 

In delightful things he dreamed: 
Till the vision, in the vision, 

Stabbed the weary heart in me, 
In the thought of what its meaning 

To the dreamer's heart would be. 

Starting then, he rose, and turning, 

As if summoned from afar, 
Thus addressed one face-averting, 

At the crazy door ajar: — 
Was it double of the master 

Of the vision's fitful play. 
Or himself in other function, 

Face averted, dare I say? — 
**Who intrudes himself upon me, 

'*And not asking for my leave?" 
Face averted still, th' intruder 

Monotoned : ' * Reprieve I — Reprieve ! " 



REPRIEVE ! 25 

'*In the name of all that's sacred — 

*'In the name of Saved and Dammed — 
*'Tell me — tell me — tell me quickly — 

*'Does a fiend before me stand? — 
**Some lost spirit from the Darkness? — 

''Is it so?— Must I believe?— 
*'Tell me what thy deadly mission? — 

But the monotone: ''Reprieve!" 

"In the age of man primeval, 

"Did the red blood stain the sod, 
"From the veins of thine own brother? — 

' ' Wast thou branded then by God ? — 
* ' Or, in age of man less distant, 

"Didst thou trusting heart-chords cleave?" — 
Still the prayer which came in answer 

Was the same : ' ' Reprieve ! — Reprieve ! ' ' 

"Tell me — tell me — tell me quickly — 

' ' What thy mission is to me ! — 
"Oh! — What horror moves my being, 

"As the earthquake moves the sea! — 
"From thy home of Outer-Darkness, 

"Where Gehenna's billows heave, 
"Why appearest thou to fright me?" — 

Still but this: "Reprieve! — Reprieve!" 

"Art thou information bringing, 

' ' That for me there is in store, 
"That, throughout an endless being, 

"I shall grieve, grieve more and more, 

* Grieve in mem'ry of my loving 

"One who pledged herself to leave, 
"E'en herself, for us together?" — 

Still the same: "Reprieve! — Reprieve!" 

* * Answer ! ' ' was the young man 's order, 

Clenched his hand and wide his eye, 
Cold sweat on his pallid forehead; 
And the figure answered: "Aye!" 



26 REPRIEVE ! 

Thus they stood as fell the curtain, 
With a sharp and rasping sound, 

Which upon my hearing grated ; 

And my — ^sleep? — was less profound. 

But, ere long, a silver cadence, 
From the now familiar bell, 

Stealing through the chilling chamber, 
On my nervous hearing fell : 

Now 'twas more than sad — 'twas mournful- 
Changed from when it last was heard: 

Thought I not of prisoned songster, 
But of wailing midnight-bird. 

Slightly waved the damask curtain, 
Smaller grew each graceful fold, 

Till had vanished all the beauties. 
Save the peeping fringe of gold. 

In a wide and waveless harbor, 
With a broadside half to me. 

With all ready for unmooring. 
Lay a splendid argosy. 

Soon, her snowy sails unfurling. 
Stood she boldly for the deep, 

As a mighty thing of ocean, 

Which had sought the bay for sleep. 

In the shrouds a tar was hanging, 
By a careless foot and hand, 

Who was happy in his leaving 
Once again the irksome land. 

Turning to a shipmate near him. 
To whose eye a tear had sprung. 

Rallied him as being lubber. 
Who, in soft defiance, sung: 

** Where, beside a wooded stream, 

** Stands a thatched and woodbined cot, 



REPRIEVE ! 27 



** There to ever dwell I'd deem — 
* * Far beyond the admiral 's lot ! — 



"There the wife and mother dwells, 

** While I sail the dreary sea, 
'There the childish story tells, 

*' There awaits and prays for me. 

*0n the plat the wee-ones play, 

*'A11 about their laughter rings! — 
** Hasten, hasten, happy day. 

When no more . . . ," — The other sings: 



< <' 



*'Away with all thought, 

**And away with all pain, 
**Our vessel is staunch, 

*'And we sail o'er the main!- 
**We sail to far countries, 

"But this is my joy, 
**We sail o'er the deep ! — 

**Then never ahoy! — 

*'Then never ahoy! — 
**We sail to far countries, 

*'But this is my joy, 
**We sail o'er the deep! — 

**Then never ahoy! 

"The ocean aroar, 

"And the billows aplay, 
"Are ever my joy, 

"For now and alway! — 
"We sail to far countries, 

"But this is my joy, 
"We sail o'er the deep! — 

"Then never ahoy! — 

* * Then never ahoy ! — 
"We sail to far countries, 

"But this is my joy, 
* * We sail o 'er the deep ! — 

"Then never ahoy!'* 



28 REPRIEVE ! 

Somber-browed and sable-mantled, 

With a slow and measured tread, 
As the sentenced — with the living. 

But belonging with the dead ! — 
Paced the deck a young man sighing : 

**From the east a luster's shed, 
*' Which I'd join with all in greeting, 

*'Were Regret and I not wed!" 

Then the singing, mournful, joyful, 
Dropping through the morning soft, 

Broke upon his darkling brooding, 
Causing him to look aloft. 

** Husband, father," sighed he deeply, 

''Hush regrets which in thee burn! — 
''Children, truly, well there may be, 

"Will be wife, at thy return? — 
"And thou other, merry, careless, 

"Chanter to the Wide and Deep, 
"Whose wild boomings are thy pleasure, 

"And the gales which o'er it sweep, 
"Infidelity has never 

"Sunk her sting within thy heart, 
"There to fester and to canker — 

"God forefend thee such a part!" 

Now my vision lost restrictions 

Of locality and time : 
Through the lustra, never restinsr, 

On he passed from clime to clime: 
Now beneath cold, glinting iceburghs, 

On the sledge, o'er frozen seas, 
Where the fluids of the stranger 

In the crisping art 'ries freeze ; 
On the marge of tropic marshes, 

Breathing deeply fatal breath. 
Often touching, never grasping, 

That for which he panted — Death! — 
Till, at last, by slugged river, 

Where primeval shadows fell, 



REPRIEVE ! 29 

Paused he from his fruitless wand 'rings, 

In a Nature-hollowed cell — 
Faithless, hopeless, loveless. Godless — 

Lonely — save a Bernard kept, 
Out of eyes profoundly loyal, 

Watch, the while he waked or slept. 

Ji'ell again and rose the curtain, 

To the tinkle of the bell : 
Rose the seer, and, gravely bowing, 

Thus the fiat from him fell : 
**Now the vision's reached its ending:—* 

''Thou may'st think it as bizarre 
**As the opium-gendered fancies, 

* * As their wild emotions are :— 
**But I charge thee to describe it! — 

''Warning, teaching it may be;— - 
"It may save some life from drifting, 

*'As a derelict at sea!" 

IWith a hand upon the collar 

Of the faithful friend who, through 
Silent seasons, sad and bitter, 

Nearer to the master drew. 
In a humble praying posture. 

On the cliff, before the cell, 
Knelt the hermit, looking eastward; 

And the fervent breathing fell: 
"Had I known the truth more early, 

"That of those who sentient be, 
"There is one, however tempted, 

"Could but faithful be to me, 
«*I might not have lost connections, 

"Of the heart and of the mind, 
**And be dying thus— ejected— 

"Self -ejected— from my kind!'' 

Feeling God and the Hereafter, 

'Gainst his friend he leaned his head, 

And, as blushed the early morning. 
Kneeling still, the spirit fled. 



30 THE MATTERHORN HEAD 

From my slumbers — if I slumbered — 

From my vision, like to life, 
In its rounding to a finish, 

I was wakened by — my wife — 
Anxious, ringing from my chamber, 

Finding I was gone from thence, 
Where, the morning come, she sought me- 

By my wife — my providence ! 

Healing, toning to my being, 

Which, no language can express, 
Nor can grasp the understanding — 

Peace — divine, in perfectness — 
In the certitude of knowledge, 

That, 'mongst those who sentient be, 
There's another, who, spite reason, 

May be lost to self in me! — 
How? — Spite reason? — She a woman! — 

And another cause apply: 
Her to cherish I've attempted! — 

Man to be, I've tried to try! 



THE MATTERHORN HEAD. 



Overwhelmed I have been by the Matterhorn's loom; 

I have clung where its chasms abysmally gloom; 

I have noted its forehead, creased, wrinkled and old; 

Its brows seeming bent upon purposes bold, 

Held steadily to as milleniums go ; 

I have bowed my bared head to its crowning of snow. . . . 

The Matterhorn rises subjectively grand 

In memory's world, as, retiring, I stand 

Where monuments sprinkle the Field of the Dead, 

All mutely expressing what can not be said, 

However we try — the foundations from where 

The Palace of Hope swells aloft through the air. . , , 



TO A MIDWINTER FLY 31 

But what is thus causing to nobly arise 

The splendid old mountain to memory's eyes? — 

A head, which is crowned with a glory of white, 

With a brow which is set in a purposeful might, 

With a forehead which thinking has wrinkled and lined— 

A head which is surely the home of a mind ! — 

A head which is bowed, as its bearer pursues 

His leisurely way, threading trim avenues — 

More lowly, where, ancient and massive, there rests 

A monolith over the perishing breasts 

Of his dead — not rising before a rough stone, 

In a plat, not neglected, though sadly alone ! . . . . 

The head ! — It is up, and glancing about. 
As if to make something more certainly out ! 
There's a smile on the lips and a look in the eyes, 
Which Doubt, the cold Fiend of the Darkness, defies ! 
His Palace of Hope ! It is real, complete ! 
And in it his dead and he lovingly meet! 

The names on the monolith 's weather-stained face, 
By scraping the mosses, I manage to trace. 
The name on the stone ? Let a selfish world stare ! 
'Twas the name of a dog which was rudely cut there ! 
Is there hope that a dog may arise from the dead ? 
The answer's a nod — from a Matterhorn head I 



TO A MIDWINTER FLY. 



When — having tickled well my nose, 

And sent a quiver to my toes, 

And made me with a hand strike out, 

And in my arm-chair turn about. 

And sneeze — when I am settled down, 

And from my brow is smoothed the frown, 

The ugly word I said forgot. 

The word I should have uttered not; 

When in the full and mellow glow, 



32 TO A MIDWINTER FLY 

My shaded student-lamp below, 
My feet upon the fender bright, 
Well-sheltered from the bitter night, 
I think of those whose members freeze 
On treeless plains and open seas ; 
When through me steals the genial heat, 
And moving lips my thanks repeat, 
In calm reaction from the state, 
The blame of which be on thy pate; 
When open once again the book, 
From which my eyes the tickle took: 
Then light 'st thou on the virgin page, 
Upon a sentence of the sage, 
And cleanest with a leg a wing. 
Thou little, buzzing, tickling thing! 

What do 'st thou here, in armor green, 
Of head, abdomen, with, between. 
The russet corset on thy back, 
With wings of amber, legs of black ? 
Thou art not of the winter wild, 
But glowing summer's truest child! 

There ! I have noted well thy gear ! 
So, up ! And buzz away from here ! 
What? Wilt not go? Then stay thy stay! 
I should not always have my way ! 

It may be thou art sent to teach 

Some lesson ! Or some sermon preach ! 

Thou surely art a thought of God! — 

And other authors halt and *'nod!'* — 

It may be that the page of man 

I'm too disposed to only scan! 

It may be that the life I boast 

No greater is than thine, at most! 

It may be that each life is great. 

But bound, and held by matter's weight — ' 

From thine, thou little, tickling mite, 

To his, who wields, by native might, 

The sceptre of a wide domain — 



THREE BURL\LS 33 

The might of arm, or heart, or brain ! 

It may be that a symbol thou 

That I am, also, only now 

By accident, in wintry world. 

The one 'bout whom these goods are furled ! 

It may be that as I could close 

This book upon thy life — Who knows? — 

Some greater creature, little fly, 

Could me a longer life deny! 

It may be. . . . But .... A flash of green ! 
The little thing no more is seen ! 

It may be that in dent of wall, 
In fold where heavy curtains fall, 
Or, 'tween the shelf and unused book, 
In some sequestered corner, nook. 
The little brown and emerald life 
"Will know not of the cold and strife, 
Till coyly-smiling Spring appear 
In bridal-chamber with the Year! 
It may be that thou then wilt flash, 
Entitled guest, through open sash ! — 
A symbol still — of greater worth — 
That I am more than of the earth — 
That I shall, sometime, raise my wings, 
And dart away from earthly things! 
And I of two? May it not be 
That God loves both — the fly and me? 



THREE BURIALS. 



I PAUSED in wonder, stepping to the street ! 

Why checked and soft the tread of passing feet, 

Which, hitherto, with resolution strong. 

Had sharply smitten, hurrying along? 

I wondered why the solemn hush in air — 

Why whispering groups were gathered here and there— 

I wondered what the heavy wing of awe. 

Which seemed to shadow — wondered; and I saw! 



34 THE HUNTER 

With nodding plumes and steady motions, walk 

The horses, trained, which draw the catafalque, 

On which, in costly casket, canopied, 

Lies what of earth remains of one, whose greed, 

With pulsing genius, gathered fortune vast, 

And, as he doled a pittance, held it fast. 

While thousands hungered, for emplo\Tnent prayed — ; ^ 

One who in pittance good investment made ! 

I turned away ! Within a block or two, 

I find another cortege passing through. 

A humble hearse. And not a score the pain 

Have taken to be numbered in the train. 

And not a hush in air. And not a head 

Uncovered — in remembrance of the dead. 

I knew him well. His heart to self was blind. 

His millions went to helping humankind. 

I turn away. My indignation ^-ields 
To Nature's soothing, in the open fields. 
Where in the grass a wounded robin lies, 
I pause, and stroke it as it pants and — dies. 
And as I lay the pretty bird away. 
Beneath a lifted sod, I, weeping, pray : 
Father fold, with me, in tender care, 
The bird, the pauper and the millionaire! 



THE HUXTER. 



I'm awakened from sleep — from an afternoon nap — 

By a knockinET peculiar — Rap-rippity-rap ! 

My dog has selected the rug at my bed 

For earnestly scratching the back of his head. 

As I open my eyes, he contorts him the more — 

More rapidly pounding away on the floor. 

My muscles contracting the scratcher to hit, 

I angrily order the pounder to quit, 

When on the cool zephyr which over me floats, 



THE HUNTEE 35 

There comes a sweet jangle and tangle of notes, 
Which saves me from anger's more foolish display — 
The dog beyond reach of my stroke, anyway. 



I once was a hunter, with powder and ball. 

And pleasure I took in collapse and the fall 

Of feathery thing, which down I could bring. 

From the region of song and the beating of wing. — 

Excuse did I need ? — Well, I thought it enough, 

That the bird I could hit, or could pluck, or could stuff I 

But now, through the mellowing touch of the years, 

My gun, it is rusted I — I hunt with my ears I — 

On meadow, in wood, or the river along, 

I'm ever awake, to catch a new song! — 

I hunt with my eyes ! — And, the singer to see, 

I watch, through the days, weeks — years, if need be I 

I ever am hunting ! Not only without, 

On mountain, on plain, or in valley about I — ? 

"When sitting in study, with little to do. 

In dozing, in waking, I 'm hunting then, too ! — 

And oftenest songs which I hear as I wake 

Are new, or, if old, variation they take. 
****** 

The jangle and tangle which comes to me now, 
Relaxing my muscles and smoothing my brow, 
I never have heard I — Of the singer is new, 
Or never before such ability threw 
Into song to my ear ! And I eagerly rise ! 
He's miae, through my ears! Must be miae through 
my eyes ! 

I'm hunting him still! — Though a decade, or more, 
Is gone since I woke to the thumps on the floor, 
Though the thumper is gathered long since to his kind. 
The singer I 'm hunting ! The singer I '11 find ! — 
I've looked for him long! I shall look through the 

years ! — 
Till he, if not here, then Hereafter appears! 



36 PHUP waiting! 



PHLIP WAITING? 



To Phlip I was lost ; and he hurried around. 
To where, from my habits, I'd likely be found — 
To the offices, shops, to a certain hotel — 
All the places he went I would better not tell ! 

Disappointed, advances he met with a growl. 
And took himself home, and proceeded to howl, 
Erect on the porch, not finding me there — 
Distractingly splitting the neighborhood air. 

That howl I *11 remember through many a day ! 
As I heard it, as home I was making my way, 
I thought of my neighbors, and mended my pace — 
To smile at the joy of the yelp in its place I — 

Phlip pleased with my showing ? My telling would fail ! 

He quivered with joy from his head to his tail ! 

And his beautiful eyes! How they glittered and 

gleamed I — 
How the light of his love for me out of them streamed I 

Poor Phlip ! He is dead ! But his loving intense 
Is drawing me up from the region of sense ! 
On the porch of the Future is he waiting for me ? — 
I cherish the hope that such waiting may be ! 



FREE LOYSS 37 



FREE LOVES. 



A MUSTY old writer, whom lately I read — 
(The sneezing was good for a cold in my head — 
The sneezing which came from the dust which arose, 
Half -blinding my peepers and tickling my nose. 
When doT\Ti from the shelf the old writer I took — 
From a shelf seldom touched, in an out-of-way nook; — 
Said this, among many fine things which he said : 
' ' Three friends I would cherish — a woman, a man 
And a book!" A good text. And my sermon began. 

The book, it should be ... . Well, what shall I 

say ? .... In a word : 
What of tenderness, truth and of wit has occurred 
To genius to write. In essence, I mean. 
Not nearh^ so lage such a volume, I ween. 
As many which bring to my fingers a cramp, 
As I sit in the night in the light of my lamp ! 

The man should have interests common with mine, 
Be master of details along the same line, 
Be good at the parry and quick at the thrust, 
Enjoying the battle, with all of its dust, 
Its tumult of passion, wounds never so sore. 
Completely aware when the battle is o'er, 
Not proud over-much of Victory's crown, 
AU-manfully yielding when he is down. 
Incapable ever of harboring spite. 
And eager again for the heat of the fight! — 
For war is not only of flood or of field : 
Subjectively, too, men conquer and yield! 
God pity the man of the region of thought. 
Who never thrilled deeply as bravely he fought ! 
Then give me the friend who will look in my eye 
And ward the hard blow and as stoutly reply ! 



38 FREE LOVES 

The woman? Well, well, what more can I say, 

Than she should be one who, in having her way, 

Has mine? For the man who can never submit 

To the law of relations is certainly fit 

For the love of no woman ! And, if her love wanes, 

She should show that she thinks I have something of 

brains. 
By telling me so ! And the woman, my friend — 
Why, together, we into the greater-one blend! 

But the book which I think ? It has never been bound ! — 
The man whom I think ? He has never been found ! — 
The woman I think ? She living may be ! 
But, living or dead, she's partitioned from me I 

Perfection not grown in the soil of the earth ? — 
Must ever I suffer the terrible dearth 
Of that for which my heart is a-yearn — 
Perfection of friendship ? Ah ! may I not spurn 
The thing I am wanting away from my feet ? 
I ask, as my eyes, in down-glancing, meet 
The up-glancing eyes of my dog. Yes ! Complete 
Th' devotion which shines to me out of those eyes I 
Incarnate fidelity at my feet lies ! 

The man or the woman may, grudgingly, give 
A something like friendship, for more, as I live, 
Than, often, I 'm willing to pay ! 'Tis a trade ! 
We higgle and haggle ! The bargain is made ! 
With the dog there's no question of value of things, 
Which he gets, in return for the friendship he brings ! 

The hate-tinctured friendship of man I bespeak ! — 
In earnest, the friendship of woman I seek! 
On knees, over stones, I would walk for her love, 
The sweetest thing known this side of Above ! 
But only the love of my dog may I call. 
Free Love — saving that of the Maker of all ! 



THE MICROSCOPIST 39 



THE MICROSCOPIST. 



MiCROSCOPiST sat, with his eye to his glass, 

Regarding a marvelous coming-to-pass — 

As wonderful, surely, as — Pantheon's rise? — 

As the birth of a star, in the depths of the skies ! — 

In protoplasmatical ovule, so small 

That naked eye scarcely could see it at all, 

Which spermule had found — in the love, the unrest, 

Which the one for the other keeps ever in quest — 

From man, in the pride of his intellect high, 

To the bird or the weed, or the lily or fly. 

*'The germ of what being, I wonder?" he said,, 
'er lens achromatic constraining his head ; 
For miscroscope never has difference found 
'Mong numberless germs, w^hich in Nature abound ! 
The edge of the blade of a knife it may make 
As wide as a paling, as rough as a stake ; 
But, under it, germ of a man or a tree. 
Or an elephant huge, of a pestering flea — 
The germ, in a word, of each creature to name, 
Of animal, plant, in appearance, the same ! 

The wonderful thing, in the field of his glass, 

Microscopist saw in the coming-to-pass? — 

The matter composing the bit of a germ — 

The protoplasm, using the technical term — 

Divided adroitly in pieces minute. 

Most delicate purposes, surely, to suit — 

Which appeared in detail, as the moments went by- 

In legs, head and tail ; and the creature will fly ; 

For winglets are showing ! Uplifting his head : 

''An eagle in little!" Microscopist said. 



40 THE MICROSCOPIST 

His brows, they were knitted : he sank in his chair ; 
And this is the logic which came to him there : 

* * Of plasma biologist thinketh alone ! 
But is it essentitally more than a stone? 
Materials never could rise in a fane, 

But for hand and the muscle of man and his brain ! 
As eagle from germ begins to unfold, 
The worker to plan potential behold ! — 
The plan having worker to carry it through, 
It Author must have, just as certainly, too ! 

* * How many the lives which bepeople the earth ! — 
And each may be seen in its having its birth — 
The eagle, but now, which will puncture the skies, 
I saw, from the germ, in its nascency, rise ; 

And there may be studied the weed or the man, 

From the germ starting up, on as certain a plan. 

The worker in stone, on the temple or hall, 

I see, and he turns him about at my call ! 

The worker in plasma? 'Tis true that to me 

He 's visible never ! Yet still he must be ! 

Is visible never — through microscope — quite — 

Though it seems that he 's only just out of its sight ! — 

And is sight the sole way through which facts may 

appeal ? 
I hear, and I smell, and I taste, and I feel ! 
I reason, I fancy, imagine, as well ! 
Why slave to my senses ? Will any one tell ? 
The planner as real as the work which is seen, 
A something on which to confidingly lean 1 

**The Planner — He loves, in the nature of things, 
Whatever by thought into being He brings ! — 
We lived in the Mind — in the Infinite Thought — 
Before we were bodied — in matter were wrought — 
As Acropolis' temples in Phidias' brain. 
Before they looked down on Athenian plain: — 
Is Phidias living? Those temples sublime 
Are perfect in him, though in ruins in time ! — 
Though wounded — though dying — it comes as a psalm : 
In the Planner — the Lover — Eternal I am ! 



THE GRAY AND THE BAY 41 

**And only am I? In the Phidian mind, 
The temple, not only, the statue we 'd find ! — 
The great and the little together would be ! — ■ 
One loved as the other intensely we'd see! — 
What's finitely true in the master in art, 
Must truer be still in the Infinite Heart ! — 
Hereafter, the leap of my dog and his bark, 
The prance of my horse, and the song of the lark, 
Still more to my heart ! — Both the great and the small, 
God planned us to be ! — And He loveth us all T ' 



THE GRAY AND THE BAY, 



As DARKNESS grew deep in depressions about, 

As light on the mountains began to go out. 

When th' cows had been milked and the chickens were 

housed, 
When, deep in the hollow, the silent owl moused, 
Old Towser arose, at the sound of a bar, 
Which fell on his ear, from a valley afar — 
From where the long lane and the stony began. 
And tow'rd the house slantingly, windingly ran. — 
Old Towser arose. — It was seen, by the play 
Of his ears and his tail, as he took him away, 
Though age made it painful to come to his feet. 
Much more would be pleasant his master to meet. 

When th' master was met, to Towser 's surprise. 
But blankly and coldly indifferent his eyes — 
Till, suddenly, filled them a look of disdain — 
Increasing in heart of old Towser the pain — 
A disdain which was wider than Towser — which ran 
To all of the earth — which was deepest for man — • 
A disdain which was rooted in plaudit of self — ; 
That rooted, in turn, in a pleasure in pelf. 
That day he had beaten a neighbor in trade. 
And many round dollars had easily made. 
As any good critic of horses would guess, 
In sizing the filly he paused to caress. 



42 THE GRAY AND THE BAY 

To th* porch and liis comer old Towser returned, 
Lay bmnpingly down, with a question which burned. — 
Old Towser was cut, but knew not, in his pain, 
That man is made hard by his strugrgle for gain — 
That harder man's made by success in the same — 
A slough of despite, in his winning the game — 
That the li^^g, the lo'^'ing are less than a song, 
To the man who has pleasure in ha^-ing done wrong, 

The farmer arrived at the front of his door, 

And the family called, with a bisonish roar. 

The sons, they were pleased by the sight of the mare, 

By her delicate limbs, by her satiny hair. 

By the arch of her neck, by her beautiful head. 

By the play of her muscles, as about she was led. 

''Surprised you will be. when I've told you her cost! — 

*'I'm shrewd, or the neighbor his senses has lost!" 

The farmer he chuckled. Then: ''Mother, don't fret!— 

I can stand a cold supper this ev'nin' — you bet!*' 

He paused on the porch : and the dog, from his lair, 

Looked up in his face ; but the heart was not there. 

He turned him about. They were leading away 

Acquirement so recent — the sheen of her bay, 

By the light from the window, so beautiful made, 

There was sense of a loss, as she passed into shade. 

"Be careful, boys, careful, in giving her stall!" 

He cried, in his glee. "Any danger at all 

Must never come nigh the most beautiful birth 

Of the foal of this region ! And think of her worth !" 

He chuckled again, and again he exclaimed : 

' ' How frightful the loss did she come to be maimed ! — 

"Old Gray, she has ser^^ed us many a year; 

To all of our hearts she has made herself dear ; 

But she 's come to be old ; and her stall of the two, 

This side of the barn, is least apt to break through : 

The others are filled with the good of their breed ; 

And one — it belongs to my own saddle-steed : — 

Old Gray ! Put her back in the worst of the stalls : 

Our loss will be little, if through it she falls! 



THE GRAY AND THE BAT 43 

The mother and children are sunken in sleep, 

While stars above calmly, their vigil they keep : 

The farmer is restless ; for thoughts of old Gray 

Have driven the angel of slumber away! — 

She tottering stood by her dam on the morn 

When George, his first son and the truest, was bom ; 

She galloped beneath him, when winter was wild, 

And the doctor was far, and they saved a dear child ; 

She steadily moved, as if knowing his grief, 

In the loss of a daughter, whose life was so brief ! 

He saw in the years passing by in review, 

Young Gray growing old — ever steady and true — 

A figure in every moving event. 

Which something substantial to evVyone lent. 

He sprang from his bed, and he rushed to the stairs, 

And he roared a roar — loud as the trumpet which blares : 

* ' George, up ! and away — as the thunderbolt falls ! 

And back with old Gray — to the best of the stalls ! ' * — 

Returning, directly, his mission performed, 

A current within, which his whole being warmed, 

George came to a stand : for the father he found. 

His arms the rough neck of old Towser around. 

The father said : ' ' George, a mistake I have made, 

In holding the world but a market for trade ! — 

In holding material things to be worth 

The things which last longer than things of the earth ! — 

I see it now plainly — that steady old Gray 

Will th ' rest of my stable in value outweigh ! — 

That Towser, in loving, reveals him to hold 

A something eternally fit to unfold ! — 

That, steady and loving, the Heart of the World, 

Has, surely, old Gray and old Towser inf urled ! — 

They, surely, deserve it more fully than I ! — 

To equal their worth — Well, I'll have a good try'/' 

The farmer dropped low his great weight of a head. 
And, slowly, but lightly, betook him to bed. 



44 THE GRAY CHARGER 



THE GRAY CHARGER. 



I SAID, when he had talked an hour, at least : 
* ' You hold to Future Life ? " ' ' For man and beast ! ' * 
** *And beast?' " I droned, with dilettante sneer, 
**You wander, captain, in your speech, I fearl" 



Conviction's vigor to the captain came, 
And lit his eye and energized his frame. 
He stood erect. His being seemed afire. 
He looked a prophet of the Eld in ire ! 
He said : * ' The arrogance of man, alone, 
Disturbs my faith in the Eternal Throne ! 
Why God allows the poor dumb beast to sweat 
For man, I often ask, and never answer get — 
Unless 'tis this — that There, beyond the grave, 
The beast is master and the man is slave ! 

**Our debts forgive us, Lord, as we forgive!" 

The answer will surprise us, as I live! 

Is man worth drop of that great Price he brought ? 

Why not the horse ? .... I loved the gallant gray 

I rode on Chickamauga 's bloody day. 

The ball which grazed my leg, to scarce a smart. 

Passed through the saddle-skirt, and reached his heart ; 

And, as he fell, he turned his head about. 

And love for me alone with life went out! • • - • 

For years I'd ridden him, in lonely land, 

Where death was eyeing us on every hand — 

From mouth of canon and the brush of sage— • 

In Indian wars — in scarce remembered age, 

Though recent. Many, many times I 've lain, 

The stars so near, upon the open plain. 

In stillness vast, and, as a soldier, slept, 

While he, above me, loving vigil kept. — 

His lariat about me lightly drawn. 

He watched and waited. — Till the ghostly dawn? 



THE GRAY CHARGER 45 

**No human watcher could have better known 

The savage near — ^been less in panic thrown. 

A foot well out, his bended tail in air, 

With muzzle he would seek my breast, and there 

Breathe gently. When I woke, he'd moveless stand— 

A statue — till I ordered my command ; 

And, when I'd mounted, prick attentively 

His ears — to catch whate'er my will might be; 

And, when he knew it, part his quarters strong, 

And sink his croup — then rush, hell-bent, along, 

In charge impetuous, or swift retreat ! . . . . 

Ah ! yet I hear the striking of his feet ; 

Ah ! yet I feel, between my clasping knees, 

His mighty withers working ; and the breeze 

He meets, or makes, in dashing, might and main, 

I feel upon my cheek; and still his mane 

Abundant, as a storm-wave's silver crest, 

Comes rushing on, and breaks upon my breast ! 

**And he is dead! — as still we speak, and must. 

In life, the end of which is : ' Dust to dust ! ' 

But still he lives ! And you may ask me : ' Where ? ' — > 

Where I may be, my dear old horse is there — 

In all the loom of eighteen hands and more ! — • 

He 's truly there ! My inner eyes before. 

And when I feel a movement in my breast 

To do some deed of daring — at my best — 

Which on the serried ranks of Wrong may count, 

My dear old charger neighs me to the mount ! 

And in my dreams — in march, in battle grim, 

In mad foray — I 'm one again with him ! — 

And if his finite master holds him dear, 

And has him vital in the mem'ry here. 

May I not hope that, in th ' Eternal There, 

He lives in God? — The hope too much to dare?" 

As if he 'd scaled the works, and fallen there. 
The captain gasped, and fell upon his chair. 
But he had won. The years, since then, have fled : 
The master, as the charger, now is dead. 
I loved him. And I hope, in the To Be, 



46 LITTLE THINGS 

To hear him speak — his kindling eye to see ! 

And, as he hoped to mount his splendid gray, 

In that To Be .... I ... . Well, I hope he may ! 



LITTLE THINGS. 



To HIM whose mind is wide and great, 

Nor insignificant, or small, 

The very smallest thing of all ! — ' 
It truth important may relate ; 
On it may hang an empire 's fate ; 

It may be germ of wizard 's rod ; 

It may reflect the face of God! — ' 
'Tis worth a glance, at any rate ! — - 

"When down a knotty apple fell, 

Sir Isaac gravitation saw; 

The kited key, the annals tell, 

Had potency to lightning draw ; 

**Two sparrows for a farthing sell"— 

[While each is kept in Love and Law ! 



THE COP AND THE MOUSE. 



At a pace which is more a showing of hurt 

Than a sample of sprinting — because of his girt—? 

Provoking the laughter of girls in the shop, 

Up Broadway comes panting a plethoric cop. 

** What's de matter?" he cries, with a tightening lip 
And a puckering brow, as he takes from his hip 
His hickory club and makes sure of his pop — 
The implements forcing respect for the cop. 

**A woman has fainted!" — ''A banker is dead!*' — ' 
**A crank is cavortinM" — *'De Cap's off his head!" 
* ' A baby 's runned over ! ' ' — * ' A derrick is flop ! ' ' — 
Are some of the answers which come to the cop. 



THE COP AND THE MOUSE 47 

His words are profuse and commandingly loud, 
As he shoulders his way to the heart of the crowd; 
And he snorts with disgust, as he comes to a stop — 
That Gothamite hope — the imperial cop! 

The cause of the trouble ? He opens his blouse 
For a little more air ! 'Tis a bit of a mouse — 
Which out of a gutter is failing to hop 
To the curbing. Fit thing for the care of a cop ! 

And smaller than ever was mouse, in esteem 
Of itself, is the crowd, in the withering gleam 
Of contempt in the eyes — as his wide shoulders lop 
And he turns him about — in the eyes of the cop. 

From the feeling, so human, that others are game, 
If only they're weak — and for ease of its shame — 
It makes for the mouse. — But, biff, whoppity-whop ! — 
Its leaders are down — from the club of the cop. 

With all of the speed of its delicate feet. 
The little mouse reaches the middle of street ! 
And see it there, suddenly, out of sight drop, 
Through a cable-grip slot ! — Thanks, thanks to the cop ! — 

IVe sought — but I've failed in the seeking — the name — 
For gladly I'd give it the voicing of fame — 
A name which a listing of heroes might top ! — 
The name of the mouse-from-the-mob-saving cop! 



48 EXPERIENCE 



EXPERIENCE. 



When one emerges from the deep 
Of dreamless and untroubled sleep, 
As bubble, when the winds are dead, 
From glassy ocean's pearly bed, 
He's apt to think, as ope his eyes. 
Of other scenes and other skies, 
Than those he'll see, above, about. 
When he, arising, looks without, 
And meditates his daily toil, 
With all its worry, sweat and moil, 
Or wonders why he e'er was born, 
The club's wide window to adorn. 
Or kick his heels at corner store. 
Saving the country o'er and o'er. 
With grumbles from his wisdom rare, 
Which gives his eyes an owlish stare, 
Or, with a gun or fishing-rod, 
Slaughter the sentient things of God, 
Attempting, in a way sublime. 
Ennui to kill, in killing time, 
A triple murd'ring, which would bring 
Remorse, to any higher thing ! — 

Emerging thus, from slumber's sea, 
One's sky and scenes, quite probably. 
The ones he knew, and learned to name, 
As his perceptive powers came — 
The things the restless youth beguiled 
From out the little, stumbling child — 
Horizons all too narrow then. 
But circling peace ne 'er known again !— ' 

And why these things ? It seems to me. 
The soul, refreshed, may ever be 



EXPERIENCE 49 

A little child, or, at the most, 

A simple youth, who can not boast 

Experience ! — A thing to yearn ? — 

A thing from which we each would turn, 

With loathing, if he only could — 

Save only from the sweet and good ! — 

And sweetest, best of all I've known, 
"Were in the youth, unheeded, flown — 
"When mother, at the window frame, 
Impatient, waited till I came, 
From dangers, to maternity 
Alone in possibility — 
When, race and species factors were 
In choosing mates did not occur — 
When piccanniny's frantic swirls. 
Disturbed the owner's flaxen curls, 
By love of motion held entranced, 
Their heads together as they danced, 
When all for pleasure were agog, 
The children, with the frisking dog — 
Before experience had shown, 
That I and mine should be alone — 
That we have rights, both here and There, 
Which others with us may not share ! 
Forever flown the good and sweet, 
Which, joyous, in the child-life meet ? — 
Across our consciousness they sweep, 
As we awake from perfect sleep ! — 
May they not ours forever be, 
In Endless Youth — Eternity? 



60 THE REVELATION OF LOVE 



THE REVELATION OF LOVE. 



I WONDERED, as *^Ashes to ashes!" was said, 
And rattled the clods o 'er the breast of my Dead, 
Why the sounds, vi^hich should gratingly fall on my ear, 
And cause me to shrinkingly shudder w^ith fear. 
In view of the cold, and the blank, and the black, 
Which swallowed my Love, who would never come back — 
Why the sounds, which should pain, filled my soul with 

a peace. 
And caused it to mount in a mighty release, 
From the chains of a sorrow, that never again 
My Love to my breast I in passion would strain ! 

As I turned me away, when the * ' Grace ' ' had been said, 
No longer I thought of my darling as dead, 
But as gone to the Home, by the Father prepared. 
Ere He fashioned the world, with me to be shared! 

To Love, from the depths where discordances dwell, 
Harmonius anthems and symphonies swell ! — 
A purpose she sees in the tangle of Laws! 
She traces them back to an Infinite Cause! — 
And the Angel of Hope from the Innermost Sky, 
Alight with its Certainties, comes at her cry ! — 

As I sat in my study, and peacefully said : 
* ' My years are but few till I go to my dead ! ' ' 
Through my window, half open, from portion remote 
Of the grounds, on my hearing distressingly smote 
The wailings of mourners! ** What's wrong?" I in- 
quired. — 
'Twas only the children's pet dog had expired! — 
Why ''only?" — They loved him! And, out of their love. 
They naturally think, he'll be waiting Above! — 
And why, in the meeting of my Love and me. 
Should others not meet ? — Can it otherwise be ? 



NICODEMUS 51 



NICODEMUS. 



The sun, at zenith, on the mountain beat, 
As Nicodemus, passing, heard the Speech, 
Which rang as that of One sent forth to Preach 

The Will of God : and hurried on the feet 

Of Nicodemus, in a quick retreat ; 

For his the spirit e'en the One must — teach — 
Can only by adroitly showing reach — 

Conventional — which loves the ruler's seat — 
Which would not have a rimple from a breeze, 
Upon repute among the Pharisees ! — 

The fervid Truth, the Preacher's burning Word, 
To Nicodemus, as the zenith light. 

Too strong, 'twas only then he, blinking, heard. 
When came he to the Teacher in the night ! 



A SENSE OP SHAME. 

In nervous poise, upon the green — 
Darting through shadow and through sheen- 
Leaping upon the topmost rail 
Of iron fence — its bushy tail. 
Now undulating in its track. 
Now arched above its arching back : 
How could a thing, so lithe and gay 
Be dressed in such a sober gray ? 

*'I'1I call it!'' said my friend. And I: 
*at will not come!" ''I'll have a try!" 
His lips are puckered. And I start ! 
For through his grizzled beard, a dart 
Of sound leaps forth — as shrill and clear 
As that, a boy, I used to hear 
And answer, at the peep of day. 
When we were to the woods away. 



52 LITTLE TWO-STARS 

The squirrel comes. It's oval eyes 
Are open, to their fullest size, 
With expectation, as its nose 
Roots deeply where the fingers close 
Upon the palm. The nut it seeks 
It finds not; disappointed, squeaks; 
And turns away, in deep disgust, 
At the betrayal of it's trust. 

Triumphant, says my friend : * * There, see ! — 
Hereafter, you'll have faith in me!" — 
As, with mock sorrow, shook my head : 
'*But how about the squirrel?" I said. — 
**I'd never think of that!" — his laugh 
So hearty that he shook his staff. — 
**But if you're right, and squirrels rise, 
I'd blush to this one in the skies! — 
Come! — I must find a vender's stand, 
And come again — a nut in hand 1 ' * 



LITTLE TWO-STARS. 



TwERE dark did not the constellations shine, 
And they who wander on the dusty plain 
Were lost, and they who sail the open main, 

But for the dipper with its great incline. 

The cross, beyond equator's burning line; 
And there is darkness, too, within the brain, 
And there the inner eyes for guidance strain, 

On plains subjective and subjective brine; 
And there the real cross and dipper glow 

Of which the ones appearing, symbols dim — 
As was the constellation which I know 

As Little Two-Stars, which above the rim 
Of my horizon came, too soon to go ; 

But Little Two-Stars waits for me in Him ! 



THROUGH EONS LONG 53 



THROUGH EONS LONG. 



An anxious flutter, and a smothered cry, 
As, in neglected grounds, I walked today, 
And by a tangled lilac passed my way, 

My ear arrested, and my foot, and eye. — 

A creature complicated ! — As was I ! — 
My sympathies responsively in play. 
From larger limb, I. lifted crossing spray — 

Letting a panting sparrow upwards fly. — 
As this I did, there came a sense to me — 

An expectation, deeply sweet and strong — 
That my obstructions would uplifted be — 

That I, on liberated wing, with song. 
In character of active charity, 

From height to height, may mount through eons long ! 



TO BISHOP ROWE. 



Thy dear consolers, Rowe, in land remote, 
In weary wanderings, alone and cold. 
O'er windy wastes, on mountains bleak and old. 

Shall be : Thy Master, Who was pleased to note, 

That thou wast thrilled, when on thy hearing smote 
The call, as far Alaska's famished few. 
In need of shepherding, together drew — 

Wast thrilled, as if it came from bugle-throat; 
Thy wife, who said : " Do not consider me ! — 

Go, if it be the Will of God ! ' ' — whose praise, 
Within thy hut, thy palace, waiteth thee. 

As drag the arctic nights and flit the days ; 
And ever at thy side thy dog I see. 

Thy friend of old, among the Ojibways! 



54 SHE FINDETH GOD 



SHE FINDETH GOD. 



Where breeze-touched curtains rustle to and fro, 
A twilight giving to a rich retreat, 
A woman sits, nor hears the fall of feet, 

Though four are coming, as two others go — ) 

She sits in pale paralj^sis of woe ! — 
For he who solemnly at altar swore, 
To vested priest, for her to all give o'er, 

Has, smiling, smitten, with the cruel blow 
Of infidelity, her trusting heart. 
And made their lives but possible apart, 

And her of Loneliness eternal bride ! — 
No friend within, or in the vast abroad! — 

But stay ! — Her faithful mastiff seeks her side ! — • 
And, weeping on his neck, she findeth God! 



TO MISS 

AFTERWARDS 
MRS 



Just after the sun had retired him to rest, 

To his gorgeously curtained couch in the west, 

I saw, from some mysterious where, 

A star appear in the upper air; 

And the night winds sighed, as, in lowered tone, 

They murmured sadly: "But alone — alone!" — 

But they joyously laughed — clapped their hands in my 

face — 
As another star came — took, by him, her place ; 
And, together, they're reigning, and greater, by far, 
In union, than either could be as a star ! 



Where Is My Dog? 

BY THE REV. CHARLES JOSIAH ADAMS, D.D. 

12mo. vol. 200 pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.00 Postpaid. 

This book should be read by everyone. Its primary 
object is to call attention to the lower animals — out of 
which attention, kindliness of treatment of them is 
sure to come. No one who has the power of loving 
has ever attentively studied the lower animals and 
afterwards been unkind to them. 

There is heart in the whole work. Staring one in 
the face in every sentence of the book are two ques- 
tions: 1. Is Man Immortal? 2. Is the Lower Animal 
Immortal? These questions are handled in a remark- 
ably clean and philosophical manner, and Mr. Adams 
has certainly focused a flood of light upon them. 

Some Comments. 

"I really feel under deep obligations to you for your true, 
forceful words in behalf of man's best friend, the dog." 

Eugene Field. 

"It may give you considerable standing among the angels, also, 
for I have always thought of them as interested, much like the 
children, in dogs. 

"But I observe that their reflections are all about 'Your Side* 
of things. Let me say I enjoyed the book. It is well written, 
shows great observational faculty and good literary skill and 
taste." Allen H. Norcross. D.D. 



"Let me say, that, if your book is not already considered a 
classic in the literature pertaining to that most magnanimous of 
God's creatures, the dog, it ought speedily to take that rank, and 
I want to thank you most heartily for the pleasure that the 
reading of 'Where Is My Dog?' has afforded me." 

Hiram Howard. 



"It is fully in line with the best work of the writers on dumb 
animals and kindness to them, and it should take a place beside 
'Black Beauty* in the library of every home where there are 
domestic pets." Phebe A. Hanafosb. 

Sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of Price, $1.00. 

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
57 Rose Street, New York. 



The Racing Parson 

OR 

HOW BALDY WON THE CODKTY SEAT 

BY CHARLES JOSIAH ADAMS, D.D. 

Baldy is a horse, and he figures in the story more 
prominently than any other character, except possibly 
a young clergyman, Emory M. Emberson. 

The scenes are laid in the West of forty years ago — 
a West which should not cease to be a memory. It 
re-lives in this story because the author was an active 
part of it. On its plains and in the shadows of its 
mountains he rode and camped with the men who made 
it so picturesque and so terrible — such men as Jesse 
James and Buffalo Bill, "rough men, but whiter than 
many who have fairly panted, in their efforts to paint 
them black." 

The hero endeavors to enforce the principles of the 
Gospel in defeating the Vigilantes in their endeavors 
to wrong the editor of a newspaper, and his adventures 
are thrilling. 

The book contains 383 pages, is bound in heavy 
paper cover, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any 
address on receipt of Price, 30 cents. 

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
57 Rose Street, New York. 



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